


Hyperthymia

by Zentrifucked



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Newt Scamander, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rescue
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-12
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2019-02-01 13:27:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12705912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zentrifucked/pseuds/Zentrifucked
Summary: When Grindelwald reads about Dumbledore favoring Newt, he is much more intrigued than he'd like to admit. It would be a shame to put him down before he has a chance to find out what exactly Albus likes about him, and so he decides to take him along.Newt just wants to make a run for it. This becomes significantly more difficult when he realizes what Grindelwald kept hidden in his lair. Ah well. He supposes it’ll all work out somehow.-'The moment Newt hit the ground he knew he had made a mistake.'





	Hyperthymia

**Author's Note:**

> Well. This is not my first work but the first that I have ever posted. It was just something that would not leave me alone, and since it's written I thought why not share it. I hope you like it. Not complete, might not be complete ever, but who knows. I'll certainly give it my best.

The moment Newt hit the ground he knew he had made a mistake.

When Director Graves had kept him back in interrogation and send Tina away – sentenced to death! – Newt had already known that something was terribly, terribly wrong. He didn’t know Graves, not personally, not in the way Tina knew him, or Zeus. But he had heard enough. 

Percival Graves might not have been a Theseus or a Dumbledore, but he was a small legend in his own right. War hero, youngest person ever to be elected Director of Magical Security and Seraphina Picquery’s right hand man, Graves was known for his iron core and his unwavering loyalty. He was a true man of the law, distant and unrelenting and maybe cold but always just, always fair. It was something everyone seemed to agree on: Percival Graves might have been a hardass but he was also a good man.

The person that had sentenced him to death, sentenced Tina to death, was another thing altogether.

It didn’t fit. Percival Graves may have been a hard man, but the way this Graves had acted, it didn’t make sense at all. It was absurd. Not to mention unlawful – Newt was fairly sure that execution without a trial was wildly illegal even for such a distinguished individual as the Director of Magical Security – and on top of that it was just plain stupid. Nobody gained anything from putting the two of them to death. On the contrary, with his brother being who he was, with him being British, it was actively inviting disaster. 

Percival Graves would never do such a thing.

It stood to reason that something was very wrong. Which left Newt to wonder, very quickly and very quietly lest his interrogator noticed, what exactly was off.

It was possible that Graves had simply gone bad; this wouldn’t be the first time for a good man to go bad after all. But while Newt might not know Graves, Theseus did. And Zeus was very good at judging people. When Newt’s brother had met Graves during the war he had found him to be hard and reserved, yes, but equally as kind and incredible steadfast. From what Newt had gathered, Graves lived by a fixed set of values. Values which were rooted deeply in the desire to serve and protect. 

Graves would have never sentenced anyone without a fair trial. Graves would never sentence Tina to death for a crime she hadn’t even committed. Graves would never endanger the lives of innocent people by killing someone that might have information to save them. And Graves would never sentence someone after a mere 5 minutes of interrogation, or whatever that farce had been. 

Far more likely was that he was being controlled, or even worse impersonated. But how? And to what end? In any case, MACUSA was no safe place anymore. Without knowing the why’s and the who’s Newt had no idea how to judge the situation’s gravity, although it was fairly accurate to say that it was very grave indeed, what with Tina and him both probably dead soon and all that. 

When Tina had been dragged from the room Newt had all but bitten through his tongue to resist the urge to fight. The only reason he hadn’t was that he knew with complete certainty that he would lose. The orderlies he might have taken. But he simply couldn’t fight Graves. Not head on, not now. Risking a confrontation would only make their situation worse and they’d lose the only advantage that they had: the element of surprise.

What he needed to do was lose Graves. Unfortunately, Graves seemed to be entirely unwilling to be lost. After Tina was gone the man had dragged Newt from the room and marched him down some very dark and ominous corridors, destination unknown. Newt was acutely aware of Picket still hidden in his breast pocket as well as the Swooping Evil pressed against wrist. He pondered whether he should try for an escape but discarded the thought almost immediately. He was still in unknown territory, watched closely and restrained. Much too risky. He’d have to wait and see when an opportunity presented itself.

He could only hope Tina was alright. He’d never forgive himself if she was hurt because of him, because of his mistakes. 

Then Newt’s situation dropped from bad to worse when they reached their destination: a dark corner of some deserted basement corridor that distinctly lacked the tingly feeling of magical wards. An Apparition point. And not a legal one he’d bet. 

Graves turned to regard him with an oily grin. “Well Mr. Scamander. Let’s go have a little chat among ourselves, shall we?”

There was no time to react. Graves hand was like a vice around his arm and when he turned they were instantly swallowed by the crushing feeling of Apparition. Usually Newt found comfort in the nothingness between one place and the next, but right now though, it only felt suffocating.

The place they arrived at was not was Newt expected at all. 

It was an apartment. And a very nice one at that, all dark wood and clean lines. It oozed a quiet sort of wealth; a thick rug covering the floor, overflowing bookcases on the walls and a pair of plush armchairs in front of a fireplace. It looked comfortable, in a lived-in way. The only thing that looked out of place was the shimmering silvery spell bubble floating above the rug, and the writhing man inside.

The lines of his face were distorted in a silent scream and he had an unkept beard swallowing the lower half of his bruised face, but there was no question about his identity. The man in the bubble was no other than the real Percival Graves. Which begged the question: who was standing beside him?

-

Newt’s abrupt attempt forward was halted instantly by the hand crushing his arm. He swallowed and turned to the imposter that was regarding him with a manic glint in his eyes. 

“Don’t mind our dear Percy here, Mr. Scamander. I’m afraid he proved to be a bit uncooperative earlier and a lesson needed to be taught. Now, I think we should talk a little, yes?”

Newt shook his head and took a step back. “Who are you?”

The man tsked in disapproval. “Oh Newt,” he said, and Newt found he hated the way he said his name, all honey sweet and dripping condescension. “Don’t play coy now. Dear Albus would never have bothered with you if he hadn’t thought you were special in some way or the other. Now then, tell me: who am I.”  
It dawned on Newt then, slowly and terribly in the way Dumbledore’s name sounded so familiar in his mouth.

“Grindelwald.” He said and couldn’t repress a shudder. The situation was worse than he thought.

“Very good.” The man smiled, a languid thing that reminded Newt of the large cats of the Indian jungle. It looked wrong on his stolen face. “You’ve caused a bit of a mess, you know. Terribly inconvenient. I ought to have you killed just like that annoying little woman. But then I thought to myself, Gellert, at the very least you should try to find out what made Albus so fond of him. You know, despite what may seem he doesn’t get attached very easily. Bad experiences in the past, as you might have heard.”

“Now,” Grindelwald said and suddenly there was a wand pressed into the soft hollow of Newt’s throat. Newt carefully froze, eyes lowered and shoulders hunched defensively. He had one chance in all of this, and it was if Grindelwald didn’t see him as a threat. 

“Would you kindly tell me: What is it that Albus sees in you, hm? He seems awfully affectionate with you for someone that was just supposed to be another student. There must have been something else. An illicit love affair perhaps? I must say, his standards have dropped quite a bit if this is what he wastes his time with nowadays. You- “

The loud chime of a clock interrupted his monologue. Grindelwald snarled violent and then with a careless wave of his wand every muscle in Newt’s body froze. He watched helplessly as Grindelwald pressed the tip of the wand to the smooth surface of a large circular mirror on a nearby table. The metal rippled and then settled to form a delicate mouth, its lips already in motion.

“Attention please. Magical Exposure Threat has been raised. MACUSA has registered a breach of security. The criminals Porpentina Goldstein and Newt Scamander have escaped custody alongside No-Maj witness Jacob Kowalsky. Criminals are armed and possibly violent. The Madame President is requesting the presence of Director Graves immediately. Attention please.”

Grindelwald cursed even as Newt’s heart soared with hope. Tina was alright. Tina was safe and she’d taken Jakob and hopefully his creatures too and they were all safe and well. That was better than anything he could have hoped for. It also provided an excellent distraction.

He braced himself when Grindelwald whirled to face him, an ugly snarl on his stolen face. Newt half-expected a curse to hit him, but instead Grindelwald took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He straightened and ran a hand through his hair that had fallen into disarray, and as he fixed it the façade of Percival Graves, Director of Magical Security slipped back into place. 

“No matter,” he said. With a wave of his wand the bubble holding the real Graves disintegrated. The man hit the ground hard and didn’t move again. Newt winced in sympathy. Another flick of the imposter’s wand had Graves flying through an open doorway into what had maybe once held a broom closet but was now a dungeon chamber, complete with stone walls and silver chains. Graves’ body made an ugly sound when it collided with the wall and he moaned, low and broken as the chains wrapped around his wrist and bound his arms to the wall above his head. 

Newt barely had time to admire the theatrics of actually fashioning a torture chamber inside Grindelwald’s stolen abode before his own body was moving against his will, sailing into the room and smacking into the wall opposite Graves with a dull thud. Chains snaked around his wrist as well and he found himself sitting on the ground with his hands fixed above his head, a perfect mirror to Graves on the other side of the room. 

“You can get to know each other while I fix the mess you caused,” Grindelwald drawled, standing in the doorway like a specter of death. The door closed with an ominous series of clicks, taking all of the light and plunging the room into solid darkness.

-

Newt blinked, and then blinked again. The darkness was absolute, not a single flicker of light visible and no sound to be heard but the ragged breathing of the real Graves.

 _Well_ , Newt thought, _that could have gone worse._

Breathing evenly, he forced himself to count to ten and then to a hundred. When there was not change he carefully sat up. 

“Mr. Graves,” he said softly. His voice echoed in the room notwithstanding. “Mr. Graves can you hear me?” 

No answer. Newt’s mouth twisted bitterly. Kept by Grindelwald for who knew how long, tortured for information and starved, Graves must certainly be in terrible condition. Newt couldn’t fathom what the man must’ve endured, alone and chained in the dark.

Well, it was time to change that.

Newt carefully rotated his wrist. The cuffs were tight enough not to permit a full rotation, fixed close to the wall and low enough to make anything but laying on the floor with the back to the wall unbearable. The position made it impossible to reach anything and was uncomfortable enough that Newt suspected it would be hell for longer periods of time. It would be highly unlikely for anyone to escape these bonds on their own. 

Thankfully Newt was not alone. 

“Pickett,” he said and glanced down to where he felt movement from his breast pocket. “If you would be so kind.”

-

When Grindelwald had taken Newt, he had made a grave mistake: he had thoroughly underestimated him. 

In his travels around the world Newt had gotten into a fair amount of trouble. And until now he had always made it out alive and relatively unharmed. Theseus always joked about fool’s luck, but even as Newt humored him and smiled at that, he knew it was widely off the mark. Despite appearances Newt was far from defenseless.

The truth was Newt was never really alone. He was never seen without his coat for a very good reason: like his case it had dozens of charms woven into the fabric, from standard protection to illegal extension. He never had anything less than half a dozen creatures on himself; the Swooping Evil and Pickett were his usual passengers, but the Niffler also frequently travelled along in his pockets and he couldn’t remember a time when he didn’t have a couple of eggs somewhere in his pockets or a hatchling that needed constant attention. 

This, coupled with his unassuming appearance, access to a large amount of illegal and rare items, and an extended repertoire of unusual spells and curses, was usually enough to get out of any sticky situation with a bit of creative thinking.

Today was no different. Pickett had Newt unlocked in a matter of seconds and then Newt was carefully scooting towards the sound of Graves’ breathing, rummaging in one of his many and deep pockets until he found a box of everlasting matches.

In the light of the small flame Graves looked even worse than before. His hair was unkept and greasy and hanging over his face in lanky strands. He carried several weeks’ worth of facial hair, had deep purple shadows under his eyes and his grey skin was bruised and stretched over his cheekbones. As Newt crept closer he could see little spasms shaking his thin frame, muscles and nerves damaged from curses upon curses thrown at him. 

Newt placed the lit match on the ground next to them and held up his hand for Pickett to reach the silver chains wrapped around Graves’ bruised wrists. The Bowtruckle made short work of his shackles and Newt quickly moved forward when the man toppled to the side. He carefully pulled Graves towards himself, taking care to steady his head when it lolled, and secured him in a loose embrace, head pillowed against his shoulder. 

Newt gently ran a hand through the overgrown hair. Graves was clean, but his skin was dry and cold and his clothes felt thin and brittle like there had been one to many cleaning spells cast on them, every spell taking a bit more substance than it should.

Newt gently pinched the skin of his hand and watched with a frown as it remained where it was, raised in a clear sign of dehydration. Shifting the body in his arms he rummaged around in his coat. Ever since that close call in Ethiopia he had been paranoid about always keeping water on his person and it had paid off again and again. A waterskin was perhaps old-fashioned, but it was much easier to store than a bottle and lighter on top.

Mindful of choking, Newt carefully poured a small amount of water on his fingers and wet Graves dry lips. After a few beats, a tongue peeked out and liked the moisture away, searching for more. Newt cautiously poured a small sip of water into his mouth and watched him swallow it desperately. Slowly Newt continued to nurse him, much in the same way he would have done for an abandoned youngling, Pickett sitting on his shoulder and watching curiously. 

When Graves’ eyes suddenly flew open Newt almost dropped the water. For a few seconds Graves’ eyes roamed madly around the room before they settled on Newt’s face, his hand gripping Newt’s wrist almost painfully. 

“What.” He croaked.

Newt tried to smile reassuringly and made an effort to make eye contact. “Hello Mr. Graves. It’s nice to finally meet you. My name is Newt Scamander and I am going to get you out of here.”

Graves stared at him for a beat before his gaze slowly drifted to the side, watching as Pickett cautiously peeked from behind Newt’s head. 

“Bowtruckle.” He rasped, nonplussed. 

“Oh yes, that is Pickett. He has some attachment issues, but never you mind. How are you feeling?”

Graves didn’t react. He kept his eyes fixed on Pickett, as if he would disappear the moment he moved his focus away. The Bowtruckle, uncomfortable with such attention, stuck his tongue out and then moved to hide behind Newt’s head. Graves followed every movement like it was the most fascinating thing he had ever seen. 

Newt gently turned his hand so he was holding Graves’ and squeezed the thin trembling fingers. “Mr. Graves?”

The eyes drifted back to him. Graves blinked a few times in what Newt suspected was a desperate attempt to concentrate. He really was in dreadful condition. What this man needed was a good healer, proper food and a good long rest just for a start. Unfortunately, Newt couldn’t provide him with either. Instead he squeezed his hand again.

“Scamander,” Graves finally rasped. “Theseus…?”

“Oh no, I’m sorry to disappoint. Theseus send his regards though, although I’m sure he would have preferred if we had met another way. I’m his brother Newt – you might have heard of me.”

“Newt. Lil’ brother, yes, remember…” Graves was slurring more and more with every word. Even as he talked his eyes were slowly drifting closed and his body was sagging again. Halfway to unconsciousness he startled awake with a pained gasp. He blinked furiously, eyes roving around the room once more until they focused on Newt.

“S’rry,” he mumbled. 

“It’s alright.” Newt didn’t even try to keep him awake. It was clear that Graves was wiped out from the way he was already drooping again, eyes fluttering closed against his will. 

He carefully ran a hand through the greasy hair and crooned softly, gently like he would do for an injured creature. “Everything’s alright, don’t you worry, love. There you go, let me take care of you …” 

It took only seconds for Graves to turn his head and bury his face in to wool of his coat and then he was gone, exhaustion overtaking him.

Newt kept carding his hand through his hair as he thought. In this condition Graves would be hard to move. If they wanted to escape he’d have to think of a way to take him with him– or he’d have to leave him behind and he refused to do that. Graves had suffered enough.

That left him with very few options unfortunately. Newt supposed he could lug the man out of here, but that would significantly reduce his speed and agility and he didn’t doubt that they’d have to move fast as soon as he opened the door to this room. Besides he didn’t even have his wand so he’d have to rely on muscle strength alone. Newt wasn’t weak by any means and Graves looked like a strong breeze might topple him over, but it was still a significant weight and bulk that he’d have to carry. No, that was not a good idea.

Which left one other thing. Newt carefully shifted the man in his arms so he wouldn’t be disturbed as he searched his coat for the vial he kept on himself at all times. He pulled it from below some crumbled notes and a few mooncalf pellets and studied the violently green liquid. 

What he held was vastly illegal. The basic formula was a simple Pepper-Up Portion, but Newt had tinkered with the recipe so many times, using some maybe _slightly_ unconventional ingredients that it had turned into something different altogether, something that was quite potent, and very useful in certain situations. Like when he had to spend a whole week awake to monitor the birth of the Graphorn youngling, a process which was notoriously difficult. Or that one time he’d been burnt by the startled Fireball, but needed to keep on working to ensure the security of the dragon’s eggs. 

In any case, it was strong. Newt usually used only a drop at a time (or yes, maybe a bit more, but just a few times) and already that amount packed quite a punch. It was therefore with great reluctance that he uncorked the vial, set it to Graves lips, and coaxed him into drinking the whole thing down. But it was necessary.

Newt carefully pocketed the empty vial. Then he waited. 

-

It only took a few minutes for the potion to kick in. The effect was instant. Graves moved as if someone had electrocuted him, sitting up with a hoarse shout, his eyes wide open and his gaze wild. His pupils were blown so wide they almost swallowed the brown of his iris. 

He panted for a few second before he turned to Newt with wild eyes. “What. The fuck was that?”, he asked. 

Newt tried for a reassuring smile but ended up grimacing instead. “Trade secret I’m afraid. Let’s just say it works. I am so sorry for forcing it on you but I couldn’t see any other way to get you up.”

“Don’t be sorry”, Graves said. He was rotating his wrist and unclenching his fingers, studying them as if he couldn’t believe they were still there. “This is great. I feel better than I have in months. I have half a mind to kiss you right now – remind me get some of this for myself when this is over.”

“Oh, well.” Newt stammered, slightly flummoxed. That certainly was a new reaction to, well, any actions of his and he didn’t quite know how to react to so much approval. 

Graves seemed to be oblivious to his state of mind. The man had moved from examining his arms to bending his legs and wiggling his toes and before Newt could react or attempt to help he was staggering upright.

Newt picked up the match and hurriedly followed, ready to intervene in case Graves stumbled. But the man seemed stable for now, although he was breathing quite hard and leaning on the wall as if it was the only thing keeping him upright.

Newt hovered anxiously while Graves acclimatized to being in a vertical position again. It took some seconds, but then Graves exhaled heavily and straightened fully. He fixed Newt with an uncannily shrewd look. “Right then. What are we waiting for? What’s the plan? I’m assuming you have one.”

Newt had half a mind to tell him that somebody who had been insensate on the floor only moments before had no business being so bossy, but he swallowed the words and nodded. 

“Ah, yes. Well, Pickett will be able to get us out of the room, and then I thought we could just, go?” Maybe they could try and meet up with Tina and the others.

Graves just stared at him, face blank and unreadable. Newt was already becoming quite uncomfortable with the attention, when the man suddenly threw his head back and laughed, long and merrily. 

And Newt really didn’t know how to react to that. Well. He knew that mania and euphoria were side-effects of the portion, but he was quite certain he himself had never reacted this way. Maybe. Hopefully. All Newt could do was helplessly watch as Graves stood and laughed. At last Graves laughter dissolved into coughing and then stopped. He wiped at his eyes and chuckled when he saw the wide-eyed look Newt was spotting. “Oh doll, you’re the best thing that has happened to me in a while.” 

Graves huffed out another few chuckles before he straightened and affected a serious mien. He sounded quite convincing when he spoke, but Newt could see the twinkle in his eyes. “Right then Mr. Scamander. After you.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you like it come shout at me at zentrifucked.tumblr.com Maybe it'll help to motivate me.
> 
> Got another (unfinished but significantly longer) something still sitting on my hard drive. Not sure if ever going to be finished. Thoughts on whether to post it or not?


End file.
